The Girl with the Louding Voice(24)

Khadija open her eyes, a struggle. She tilt her lip, as if she want to smile. “Bamidele,” she say, talking whisper so low, I am bending my head to hear what she is saying.

“The baby is giving me trouble,” she say. “I am afraid I will die.”

Bamidele wipe her face with his hand and I shock. Look around the areas. Who see us? There is nobody on the streets, only that goat is in the afar, bending its two back legs, doing hard shit; small black balls falling like bullets of rain from his buttocks.

What is this man thinking he is doing, touching Khadija’s face like that? Didn’t he know Khadija is another man’s wife?

“Aya mi,” he say. “You won’t die.”

He mad? Why is he calling her “aya mi,” “my wife”?

“Khadija,” I say, “what is this man talking all this nonsense for?”

Khadija don’t give me answers. Is as if she is not even hearing me. So I stand there, looking like a big fool, waiting for the thing I am finding to find me.

“The baby is pressing to come out,” she say to the man. “I am afraid that if I born it, it will die. Remember the curse you tell me about? The ritual me and you must do before the baby is reaching nine months?”

What curse? Which ritual? I stamp my feets, feeling more and more confuse, angry. Why are they talking like this? Making no sense?

Bamidele nod his head yes. “We can go today,” he say. “Together. Me and this girl will carry you.”

He throw me one look, and I step back. Which girl is he talking? Not me. I am not following anybody to go and do anything stupid ritual.

“I am going back to Ikati,” I say.

“Please,” Khadija say. “Help me. My strength is finishing now, I cannot even stand. You and Bamidele must carry me to go and do this thing.”

“Tell me what happen first.” I eye the man up and down as if he is smelling of a spoiling something. “Who is this man to you?”

The man push hisself to his feets. “You are who to her?” he ask.

“She is my iya ile,” I say. “I marry Morufu after her.”

“Ah,” he say. “Adunni.”

How he knows my name?

“Khadija tell me about you,” he say, giving a sad smile. “She say you are a good person. Good girl. She say you—”

“Talk sense please,” I say. I don’t have time to be hearing about my good self when Khadija is looking as if she is inside a bus of death.

“Khadija is my first love,” Bamidele say. “She didn’t tell you?”

“No,” I say. How will she tell me? Is this Bamidele having foam in his head instead of a brain?

“Five years back, me and Khadija was doing love. Real love. We suppose to marry ourselfs,” he say, “but her father fall sick, so he sell Khadija to Morufu to help them. Me, I didn’t have money that time. It pained me that they carry my love and give her to old Morufu, but I take it like a man. I leave Ikati, come and settle here in Kere to do my welder work. After four years of marrying Morufu, Khadija come and find me. She say she love me. Me and her, we begin our love again.”

He drop his head, look her as she is twisting with pain on the floor. When he look me back, tears is shining in his eyes. “That baby in her stomach is for me. It is a boy inside. I know it.”

“Help me,” Khadija say, talking so weak now.

“Which ritual are you saying she must do?” I ask. “In which place?”

“In my family, we have a curse,” Bamidele say. “We must wash every pregnant woman inside the river seven times before the baby is reaching nine months. If the woman didn’t do this, she will die with her baby as she is borning it.

“In my family, we don’t born many girls. All our womens always born boys. As I am like this, I have six brothers. I know that she is carrying my baby inside her stomach, that it is a boy-child, my son.”

He sigh a sad sigh. “Kere river is not far from here. She can use that one. I have one special black soap she will use. I have it in the house. But let us take her first. Help me.”

I look Khadija. “Is it true what this man is saying? The baby is not for Morufu?”

“It is true,” she say. “This baby is for Bamidele. Morufu is a foolish, wicked man. He wants boy-children, but he cannot give me pregnant for boys. So I come to Bamidele, and he help me with a boy. But because of this curse, I cannot born the baby until I baff . . . but now the baby is wanting to come out, so I must be quick to . . . Carry me up, please.”

I keep my feets to the ground. “Khadija, why will you give another man’s baby to Morufu?”

Khadija throw her head left and right, twisting her face.

Bamidele look me, worry in his eyes. “We must go quick,” he say. “Take her hand there and let me take it here. When I count one, two, three, we lift her up.”

“I am not doing ritual,” I say, folding my hand on top my chest, feel it beating fast. “Let us just carry her to the midwife. The midwife will help her. The midwife will—”

“She will die!” Bamidele shout so sudden, the goat in the afar stop his shit, take off, and run.

“Please,” he say, voice down. “This thing is in our family for many years. I know people who die because they didn’t do this baff. Even my mother, when she was pregnant of me and my six brothers, she do the baff. We must be quick.”